Strangled Doorway, Ta Prohm Temple, Angkor, Cambodia. 2020

 

Whisper of the Strangled Doorway

 

Beneath the hush of emerald shroud,

Where silence drapes the jungle loud,

A doorway sleeps in shadowed grace,

Time's fingers soft upon its face.

 

The strangler fig, in slow embrace,

Has carved its claim with rooted lace –

A tender theft, a winding dance,

Of leaf and stone in mute romance.

 

Once hands had shaped this sacred frame,

With chisel's hymn and holy name,

Now lichen sighs where prayers have fled,

And Buddha’s gaze is worn and bled.

 

Above the door, the figures kneel,

Their gestures frozen, faint, unreal –

Their purpose lost to moss and rain,

Yet beauty lingers in the stain.

 

Each fallen stone, a breath once held,

Now part of stories time has shelled.

A temple cracked, yet still it lives,

In every crevice nature gives.

 

No cry, no war, no passing king

Can halt the roots that twist and cling.

And in the hush, a question stays –

Who watches here these endless days?

 

Stillness thick as incense smoke,

Clings to each vine and shattered yoke.

Decay becomes a quiet psalm,

Impermanence turned strange and calm.

 

So stand before the shadowed door –

It opens to the Evermore.

Where mystery and leaf conspire,

And ruin blooms with soft desire.

– Whisper of the Strangled Doorway

This is an exceptional, individually crafted, museum-quality archival print on fine art paper.
It is accompanied by a unique certificate of authenticity to certify and preserve the provenance of your artwork.

Other print sizes and fine art framing services are available on request.